Joy
by thislongstoryshort
Summary: Sherlock wasn't always so much like...Sherlock. Once he was almost tolerable to be around. But what could create such a change in a man like Sherlock?
1. Chapter 1

_**So I really wanted to give a backstory to why Sherlock could be unemotional and a statue at times, this was the result!**_

At first John thought nothing of it, it was perfectly normal for someone to get mail. But as time passed, he noticed Sherlock didn't get much mail. Well, other than this rectangular thing every month or so that Sherlock immediately retreated to his room with. John tried to ask him about it, but Sherlock was a master at avoiding things.

The mail was always the same, sealed in a large, cheap, industrial sized envelope that was battered quite a bit. It looked like it had been mailed from a considerable distance.

There was one time John saw the mail before Sherlock did, and managed to open it. But Sherlock, ever observant, noticed John standing out in the hall a long time and went to investigate.

Sherlock snatched the picture out of John's hand before he got too good a look at it. But he did notice the main feature was a woman with long unruly dark hair who looked much too thin. And she was smiling a smile that lit up her whole face.

"That's _mine_!" Sherlock seethed, striding back into their flat and locking himself in his room. Needless to say, John was shocked by his flatmate's behavior. He knew Sherlock could be a bit odd, but this was odd to a new level.

The next day John went to see Mycroft. As Sherlock's brother and the one who had known him longest, surely he would have some idea what all of this was about.

"Ah Dr. Watson, what brings you here? I suppose my brother is being insufferable as usual?" he asked all high and mighty behind his desk in his office.

John took a moment to glare at Mycroft. "He's acting strange, even for him. Every now and then he gets a picture in the mail and disappears into his room with it. The package it arrives in looks like it's been mailed a long way. I was wondering if you knew anything about it," John stated.

"Yes, of course I do."

Mycroft didn't elaborate. The two men just stared at each other for a good minute.

"Well, care to explain?" John snapped.

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock wasn't always how he is now," he began. "He was relatively friendly and pleasant; actually cared about people."

"He wasn't always a smart ass?"

"Oh no, he's always been a smart ass, he was just a more tolerable smart ass. There was this girl named Joy…"

_She had been roped into helping Sherlock with a case much like John had. After that she would give what little help she could on cases sporadically. This became a frequent thing. Soon it came to be where more often than not she was involved somehow. She spent so much time at 221b that it was simply more convenient for her to move in, which she did. _

_Then there came a case concerning terrorists. They sprung a trap, and she was kidnapped. She was now held somewhere Mycroft suspected was the Middle East. If Sherlock tried to locate or intervene in any way, she would be killed. Sherlock didn't heed this warning at first, and that's when he received the first picture; her beaten and bloodied form lying on a sorry excuse for a cot. Sherlock then took them seriously. _

_So every few months Sherlock received a picture in the mail of her, with a newspaper or something in it to verify the date, proving she was still alive. _

_After he realized there was nothing he could do, Sherlock distanced himself from everyone. The one person he cared about was being tortured by terrorists, and it was all his fault. He grew increasingly despondent, and Mycroft was sure only the cases from Lestrade were keeping him from relapsing into addiction. _

"And then you came, John. He started acting more like he did when Joy was around. Not the same, for no one could replace her," Mycroft finished, getting up from his desk to stare out the window. "What an appropriate name, for she brought joy into everyone's life," he mused.

John took his leave. He had seen Sherlock in similar moods, and knew he would get nothing more out of Mycroft.

When John returned to the flat, Sherlock stood in the narrow window playing absent mindedly on his violin. It was a sad tune.

"That's beautiful," John commented when Sherlock paused.

"You've been talking with Mycroft. I suppose you know about Joy now?" Sherlock stated.

"Yes," John said quietly. He didn't even bother asking how Sherlock knew; he would just rattle off a long list of deductions that would lead to a change in subject.

"It's been five years, John. Did Mycroft tell you that? A sweet, innocent woman has been held captive by terrorists for five years because of me! And yet, in every photograph I get, she's smiling! Like she wants to shield me from the horror she faces! The world does not deserve to have such a woman in it; the world is unworthy," Sherlock burst out, and then returned to furiously playing his violin.

John sat down in his chair and read the paper; there really was nothing he could say.

He paused a minute later. "We caught the man we were looking for. But they caught her. Even when solved, the case doesn't always have a happy ending."

_**Hello! So for now this is just a one shot, but I have some ideas on how to continue it, what do the rest of you think? Also, any kind of reviews are welcome **___


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hey so I couldn't leave this idea alone, and will have at least one more chapter after this.**_

A week after Sherlock jumped from the top of the hospital, another letter arrived, addressed to him. John sat at the kitchen table, staring at it. He wanted to open it, but Sherlock horded the pictures, and let no one see them. John wanted to respect Sherlock's wishes. John sat there, staring at the unopened package, drinking his tea, still undecided.

Then, quickly before he could change his mind again, John grabbed the envelope and tore it open.

It was a picture of the same girl, Joy. Her dark hair was a bit longer in this picture, and still unruly. And still a smile lit up her face. John observed that had she been cleaned up, she would've been pretty. But she was too thin to be considered healthy, and he could see the fading of a bruise on her cheek. It was likely they (whoever they were) tortured her on a regular basis.

John studied the picture. There was a newspaper in the frame as well, dated at a few weeks ago. The more John looked at the picture, the more it confused him. By all means, this woman should not be smiling. But yet she did. It was as if the thought that Sherlock would see her filled her with a happiness that couldn't help but shine through.

She must really love him, John thought. With a sigh he picked up the picture and headed to Sherlock's room. He hadn't been in there since _it_ happened, but now was as good a time as any.

John entered the room and froze. In the past few weeks Sherlock had been very particular about John being in his room. In fact, Sherlock hadn't let him in at all. Covering the walls were pictures of Joy spread out in chronological order, allowing John to see how she slowly lost life.

He held the newest picture up to the very first one. It looked like two different people. John sighed, and walked across the room to post the new picture at the end of the line. Then he left the room, leaving Sherlock's ghosts.

That was the last picture that came. Whoever was keeping tabs on Sherlock obviously had passed on the news of his death. And John was left to live with the ghost of Sherlock and the woman he cared for, Joy.

_**Reviews would be awesome, I love any kind of feedback! :)**_


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